


In Sheep's Clothing

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Arranged Marriage, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Consent Porn, Dirty Talk, Doctor Peter Hale, Drama, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Gentle Sex, Hale Family Feels, Healing, Knotting, Manipulative Peter, Marking, Moral Ambiguity, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Oral Sex, POV Peter Hale, Period Typical Attitudes, Rule 63, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“The problem is Derek,” he began.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>At this, Cora merely snorted in a particularly unladylike fashion. “When isn’t it?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alas, it was not so simple a matter as the scrapes of the child he had once been—would that it were! “Unfortunately, in this case, Derek has engineered hardship for not only our family, but the young Miss Stilinski also.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>At the sound of the young gentlewoman’s name, Cora’s features sharpened; she leaned forward and rested one hand tenderly on Peter’s knee as she asked, “Speak plainly—what’s he done, and what must now be done to rectify the situation?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter took her hand in appreciation and followed her example, without any further prevarication. “He bedded his intended, and if he had merely done so, we’d have precious little trouble on our hands, for he’s hardly the first to take his wife-to-be to bed before their union was formalized, however much you will hear other preach otherwise.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cora interrupted, then, as she gripped her uncle’s hand tightly. “I’m not going to enjoy what I hear next, am I?”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Get Cut On My Edges

**Author's Note:**

> So, this happened because I am a huge nerd, with a history boner for the Victorian era that is visible from _space_. Trust me when I say I know a lot about this time period. Also trust me when I say that I had to restrain myself from just throwing in details that I find fascinating but had literally nothing to do with the plot. I'm including links at the bottom for some things that might help you lovely readers make sense of what's going on, but of course, feel free to leave questions in the comment section. For now, the most important thing you need to know for this to make sense is: 
> 
> Female sexuality--the normal kind--was pathologized in this time period. It was believed that women did not experience sexual desire or drives. Hence, female masturbation, sexual frustration, etc. was seen as illness--a symptom of "hysteria", which was an umbrella term for the various forms of male-determined female sexual dysfunction. A common treatment for this was prescribed orgasms--then called "paroxysms", because women didn't experience pleasure, remember--but also common were "corrective" surgeries, and institutionalization, especially if the patient's hysteria didn't show improvement. The threat of hysteria was, therefore, much scarier than it was sexy, and was really nothing more than a way to control women's lives and bodies. 
> 
> This was cheered on and enabled like whoa by BelleAmante, DenaCeleste, AND ladypigswagon, because apparently this fandom is dead-set against me resting in peace. *throws confetti* Long live Steter! 
> 
> Chapter titles are taken from Halsey's Young God, which inspired this madness.

 

From the outset, Peter had wondered why his nephew had chosen to sit next to him during dinner, only to proceed to ignore him; but as the dinner party attendees splintered into smaller factions for idle chatter and leisure pursuits, the reason became clear.

“Uncle Peter, would you be so kind as to spare my intended and myself a moment of your time? In private, if you please.”

He gazed at his nephew’s troubled face, and raised a questioning brow. “Certainly, though I fail to comprehend why such a simple request was not made to me immediately, as you know I would have rushed to provide any aid you might require.”

Derek frowned, his brows pulling together to cast a dark shadow over his expression. “There is a medical matter of some import that requires discretion. It felt vital to inquire in such a way that would not attract undesired attention.”

Peter’s interest was piqued—and decidedly prurient. “Of course. Perhaps Miss Stilinski would enjoy a visit to the library?”

Derek nodded, relief smoothing his features. “I’m sure she would. I’ll ask her father if we might occupy her a short while.”

Peter glanced to where lord Stilinski sat with his young daughter, dressed a beautiful pale gown; and his sister, lady Hale. The conversation between the elder lord and lady was lively and involved, such that it seemed unlikely Derek’s intended would be missed for a short time. Sure enough, it was but a matter of moments before Peter was playing the dutiful chaperone, leading them by circuitous means to the library upstairs; for, while it wasn’t likely suspicions would be aroused, the appearance of propriety was more important than the thing itself, especially if the medical matter in question was of the nature Peter feared.

Once they had entered the privacy of the library, he turned towards the young couple. “I apologize if you find me indelicate, but we are somewhat short on time. What is troubling you, Miss Stilinski?” The source of distress must lie with her; Derek would be unable to hide an affliction from him, living in such close quarters, and the young man in question appeared in every sense as hearty as his name.

Peter beheld her complexion, already fair as cream, as it drained of blood; and he feared she would faint as he witnessed and smelled her terror when Derek answered for her. “She’s hysteric.”

Concern for the young woman before him had him glaring at his nephew. “That is a serious accusation for someone who is not a physician to make,” he snapped. He gentled his tone and extended a hand to the distressed lady. “Will you allow me to examine you, Miss Stilinski?”

Her doe-eyes widened in surprise at being addressed directly, but she acquiesced, placing her hand in his, and allowing him draw her away from his nephew. He guided her to the settee, settling her upon it before taking a seat beside her, and kept hold of her hand throughout; it seemed to calm her, and he would not deny her such a simple comfort. “Could you explain why my nephew is making such a claim?”

Once again, it was Derek who answered, despite being deliberately unasked. “She’s reluctant, and complaining of imagined pain.”

For a moment, Peter was blinded by white-hot anger; and, lest his temper break the bonds of his control, he reasoned that the best course of action was ignore his nephew, focussing exclusively on the exquisite young woman in need of his attention.

Her cheeks went scarlet with shame; her voice soft with guilt; but she did not stutter or obfuscate. “I assure you that my pains are not imagined, Doctor, and are, indeed, the reason for my reluctance.” Her eyes darted toward Derek, before she added, “Aside from the obvious,” in a surprisingly wry tone that he had little expected from her.

Peter was forced to bite back his amusement, reminding himself that his nephew’s premature bedding of the girl was no laughing matter. “While it does seem obvious, I’m afraid I have to ask, my dear.” He paused, waiting until she’d nodded, wary, to continue. “Why did you consent to let my nephew take such liberties?”

He grew alarmed at the way her pulse hammered beneath the fingertips he had pressed to her wrist in response; the salt-scent of tears soon tinged the air, and she stared at her lap. “I-I know it was wrong of me. However, he—he’d been speaking of, of need for release, and,” she broke off to aim a pleading gaze at Peter as tears spilled over her lashes and traced down her cheeks. “My only desire, and the sole purpose of my agreement, was with the aim to be a good wife.”

In the face of her wretchedness, he silently promised to thrash his nephew; Talia and her position be damned, for while she was the Alpha in truth, in the eyes of society, he was the head of the family. “You will be, sweetling, of that I’m sure. Now, you said there was pain?”

A hectic blush once more coloured her cheeks; and Peter wondered idly how the more delicate blooms of pleasure might transform her features. She nodded, stuttering, “Yes—inside.”

Peter smiled in encouragement, ignoring the scent of Derek’s frustrated and impatient guilt. “Was there any bleeding, aside from the usual?”

The damning red suffusing her cheeks crept down her throat as she nodded. “Some,” she whispered. “Not so much that I suspected my cycle, but certainly enough that I feared something terrible had befallen me.”

Hearing her answer, Peter managed to hide his alarm, lest he do harm to his patient. Rubbing his thumb soothingly across the back of her hand, he carefully considered the best course of action, deciding he needed to ask, “I believe I need to examine you. If you’ve bled, it would be in your best interests to ensure you’ve suffered no lasting damage.”

Miss Stilinski’s eyes widened, darting to Derek; she fixed her gaze upon the floor, swallowing convulsively as she meekly acquiesced. “Very well.”

“Be that as it may, we don’t have time for that, uncle. It shall have to wait for another time—Stiles and I will be expected back soon.”

Peter bit his tongue so he did not let loose with the desired curse; as desirous as ignoring his nephew was, the unfortunate fact remained that they _were_ short on time. “Miss Stilinski, would you accompany me to my office? It happens to be just downstairs, and I believe there are curiosities there that would interest you.”

His deliberately gentle tone was the much needed balm to Derek’s harshness; she smiled, and accepted the hand he offered to help her rise, and, once upright, he tucked it into the crook of his arm, leading her away, uncaring of whether Derek followed. Peter had to quash his frustration so it did not become outwardly apparent when tell-tale clomping footsteps accompanied them. He reminded himself that it was of no consequence; as a practising physician, he would be well within his rights to have his nephew vacate his treatment room.

Miss Stilinski seemed genuinely intrigued by his study, which contained the books and tools of his trade, and Peter made a note to loan her one of his simpler texts before she left; in addition to providing her with a subject worthy of study, it would also act as proof of her whereabouts, and why it had taken her so long to return to her father. It might even supply a reason for her to come speak with him again, which Peter sincerely hoped it would, as she really was a _lovely_ creature.

Bringing his focus to the task at hand, he divested himself of his jacket, and turned away to scrub his hands at the basin in the corner. “If you could, please slip your drawers off under your skirts, and recline on the table; I shall endeavour to be swift, and apologize in advance for any discomfort.” Ready to begin, he turned his attention to her, and saw her moving slowly; her fingers fumbled with the hem of her skirts, and her heartbeat had quickened beyond healthy liveliness, betraying nerves it did not take super-human senses to divine the cause of. “Would you prefer if Derek stepped out during your examination?”

Movement from the corner of his eye enabled Peter to catch Derek as his nephew lifted lip in a snarl, disregarding the lady’s wishes to declare, “I’m staying.”

Miss Stilinski, for her part, was silent; her eyes flicked back and forth between their faces, and the longer she held her breath in nervous anticipation of Derek’s callous disregard, the more Peter wished stab his nephew. Preferably somewhere messy and shameful, but the consequences following from acting on his more violent impulses would prompt a conversation about their natures that was dangerously premature. Later, he promised himself.  

Miss Stilinski lay still upon his table, eyes closed and jaw clenched, hands folded over her stomach and her dainty ankles touching; the tension in her frame indicated plainly that she was in discomfort, and would prefer her betrothed elsewhere. As Peter stood at her side, gazing down at her youthful face and willowy body, he found that desire was alive in his belly, and whispering of uncountable delights—the majority of which were gallingly inappropriate for a physician toward his patient.

That he harboured such thoughts was not surprised to him; while by no means a voluptuary or lecher, Peter had always been a sensuous man, made more so by the embrace of his lupine instincts; rather, the sheer force of his desire engendered his shock, as he had always prided himself on his self-control, and rightly so. He summoned that control now, as he delicately lifted the hem of his patient’s dress, revealing shapely calves and knees; as he slowly guided her legs up, and as he glided his hands up the insides of her thighs to part them.

Her muscles jumped beneath his palms, her breath hitching; scenting the air subtly, he could detect no fear, and contemplated, for a moment, what the cause of her reaction could be, before he recognized the unmistakable tang on the air. Searching her face, at the carefully-shut eyes, and pressed-thin lips, Peter wondered who her desire was for: the man touching her, or the man who was to be her husband. A sly glance at Derek showed him unaffected—and while the scent wasn’t strong, it was certainly enticing, and Peter knew he would need to watch his nephew’s reactions.

Purely for diagnostic purposes, of course.

Returning his gaze to Miss Stilinski, he ducked his head and parted her folds as gently as he was able, and could not ignore the strengthening evidence of her arousal; that is, until, upon exposing her a little further to his view, he saw something that made concern spring to life beneath his breastbone. “How long as it been since you bedded my nephew?”

To her credit, Miss Stilinski gave no outward sign of the way her heartbeat stuttered with surprise before replying, “A few days.”

Given the interval wherein healing would have—and certainly _should_ have—occurred, it made what was before him of greater concern. “Please understand I would rather not ask, as it is highly improper, but of importance so, please, tell me: was anything pleasant about the experience?”

Despite his entreaty, Miss Stilinski held her tongue; but even in virtuous silence, everything she wasn’t saying was perfectly clear to him, and he proceeded, easing his index finger inside her; carefully containing the snarl he wanted to give at her pained gasp. Probing gently, his forearm hidden by her skirts and his shirtsleeves, he reached for her pain to assess it; and he found that it felt hot, scraped-raw and bruised.

Before he had composed himself enough to prognosticate, Derek spoke once again, and Peter contemplated the difficulty inherent in fashioning a muzzle for a human face. “So, what course of treatment would you recommend for her problem, such as it may be?”

Peter turned a baleful eye on his nephew in disappointment; his voice turned sharp with reproach. “The problem, Derek, is that your intended is a lady, and deserves to be treated as such; and instead, you used her as a common street walker.”

The lady in question stared at him in shocked surprise; meanwhile, Derek flashed fangs as he stormed out—and, while he didn’t go far, that was all the better. Peter wouldn’t be required to hunt him down that way. 

Upon seeing the tears brewing in Miss Stilinski’s eyes, however, Peter regretted his unthinking outburst, and resolved to make it up to her. He allowed a second finger to join the first and curled them with the lightest of pressure, revelling in the way she whimpered and spasmed in response.

“What—what is this? What is happening to me?”

He allowed the thumb of his other hand to brush across the tiny bundle of nerves that lay mostly-hidden, cradled like a jewel between the protective folds of flesh, and was pleased by her ensuing full-body shudder. _Giving you a taste of the pleasure you deserve_ , he didn’t say. _Hoping it will bring you back for more_. “No need for alarm, my lady; I’m merely treating you.”

He pressed more firmly with the fingers he’d nestled inside her, and was rewarded with a choked-off moan; upon continuing, her hands flew to his arms, and she clutched at him tightly, as if she needed to grasp something solid, lest she fly away. Peter, for his part, didn’t mind in the slightest; cooing encouragements as his hands discreetly took her pain and brought her ever-closer to ecstasy.

She cried out softly as she peaked, the sound escaping unbidden from her trembling body; Peter slowed, but did not cease the work of his hands until she lay flushed and drowsy, sated before him. He did not dare to kiss her, though he wanted to, and withdrew his hands with a reluctance he should not feel; he was still more disinclined to wash the potent scent of her sex from his fingers, but he well knew that couldn’t rejoin the guests downstairs while it clung to his skin. Washing at the basin for a second time, he forced his voice to remain even and civil. “You will need to visit me again, Miss Stilinski, so I can ensure you’ve healed properly.”

He heard the excited gallop of her heartbeat and smelled the fresh curl of lust on the air before she murmured, “Of course, Doctor,” and Peter felt heat gather in his belly as he realized that she had, unwittingly and unknowingly, answered his earlier question.

 

***

 

Peter left Miss Stilinski in his office, paging through his medical journals, while he sought out is nephew. Derek was close, pacing in a nearby parlour, and Peter did not restrain his speech, though he was careful to modulate his volume. “What in the Hell has gotten into you?”

Derek’s lips peeled back from his teeth, canines lengthening in challenge. “I could ask you the same.”

Peter felt the urge to shift roll through him, but didn’t give in; he knew this matter would not be solved by brute force with a clutch of guests eager for gossip and Miss Stilinski within hearing distance. “I am trying, yet again, to clean up your mess. How could you have been such a cur?”

Derek scowled, but retracted his fangs to reply. “She should have been fine.”

Peter grappled with the urge to rend something with his claws in sheer frustration; while far from verbose, Derek was never this opaque. “If she had been as we are, _perhaps_ —but she is not, as you well knew. Did you not prepare her beforehand, or see to her pleasure?”

Derek waved a hand dismissively, and the sheer insolence had Peter gritting his teeth. “Women don’t experience such—or, if they do, it’s a mere shadow of what we do, and unimportant besides.”

The hateful rhetoric pouring from Derek’s lips saw Peter lose the battle with his shift; claws sprouted from the ends of his fingers as his vision sharpened, and his voice deepened into a growl. “I’m hard-pressed to believe the falsehoods you spout with an even heartbeat. Your parents taught you better than to treat your partner as inferior—and, even if they had not, I know _I_ did.”

Derek’s face twisted at the rebuke, even as he crossed his arms across his chest. “What would you have me do? Should I have courted her like a wolf, all solicitation and gentleness?” he spat, snarling. “She would never have understood that, and has not been raised to understand it for what it is. What if she reacted badly to it, or told her father to break the betrothal? My reputation can’t afford further gossip, not in the wake of the Argent scandal.”

Peter stared, feeling as though he was gazing upon a stranger wearing his nephew’s face. “So this is your solution, then,” he mocked. “You will abandon your heritage and better self to fit in with a society that not only scorns you, but would not hesitate to hunt you down and kill you the moment they discovered what you are.”

Derek went pale beneath his beard at the joint accusation and reminder; before finally, finding his voice. “It’s the society all of you told me I have to live in,” he said, before turning abruptly on his heel and stalking away; as Peter watched his retreating back, he despaired of where, precisely, they had all failed his nephew so egregiously as to produce such dire consequences.

 

***

 

Late that night, shuttered in his study with his best whiskey and naught for company but his thoughts, he had all but despaired of how to help Derek and the innocent Miss Stilinski when he heard Cora’s footsteps approaching; being in a mood wholly unsuited to conversation, he endeavoured to deter her approach with a grumbled, “Go away.” He knew that she had never, in the past, heeded such a deterrent; but he felt it worth the potentially-fatal shock to see if she might.

To his disappointment and amusement both, she remained true to form, slipping inside his study without knocking and crossing the room to sit with him without invitation. “I most certainly will not. Derek’s been brooding and you’ve been taciturn since Lord Stilinski and his daughter left—with both your scents on her, I might add. So enough with this moodiness, and tell me what’s happened.”

Peter sighed deeply; as proud as he was of the wolf and woman his youngest niece had grown to be, there were times when her sharp tongue and even sharper senses were sources of resignation rather than pride. “I’d really rather not, Cora; not only is it a piece of thoroughly dreadful business, but I haven’t the faintest clue how I’m to begin to resolve it.”

But, rather than leave well enough alone, Cora arched one delicate brow and pushed onward. “Uncle, the only reason Mother hasn’t come to pry it out of you herself is that she hopes Derek’s guilty conscience will drive him to seek her out and confess; and there’s no point in denying that you would rather confide in me than in her.”

Rather than fight a losing battle, he decided in that moment to accede to her tenacity and sense; so he drained the last of the wolfsbane-whiskey he’d been nursing, because if he was to divulge the sorry business, he would need it. “The problem is Derek,” he began.

At this, Cora merely snorted in a particularly unladylike fashion. “When isn’t it?”

Alas, it was not so simple a matter as the scrapes of the child he had once been—would that it were! “Unfortunately, in this case, Derek has engineered hardship for not only our family, but the young Miss Stilinski also.”

At the sound of the young gentlewoman’s name, Cora’s features sharpened; she leaned forward and rested one hand tenderly on Peter’s knee as she asked, “Speak plainly—what’s he done, and what must now be done to rectify the situation?”

Peter took her hand in appreciation and followed her example, without any further prevarication. “He bedded his intended, and if he had merely done so, we’d have precious little trouble on our hands, for he’s hardly the first to take his wife-to-be to bed before their union was formalized, however much you will hear other preach otherwise.”

Cora interrupted, then, as she gripped her uncle’s hand tightly. “I’m not going to enjoy what I hear next, am I?”

Peter shook his head, wishing he could spare her this, even as he knew it was not possible; the truth would out in some manner, and she would learn of it then; best for her to receive it from her beloved uncle, who would not reproach her for the inevitable outrage. “You will despise it; for not only did he take advantage of her generous nature with regard to his urges, he did so without the slightest consideration to her; and then had the gall to come to me asserting that she has hysteria, which I was to cure her of.”

Cora’s lips thinned. “I take it she’s nothing of the sort?”

Peter could not resist the impulse to roll his eyes. “Of course not—unless being forcibly taken and left raw is a symptom.”

For a long moment, there was silence as Cora shut her eyes and drew in a deep, slow breaths; when she lifted her eyelids, the orbs revealed blazed gold. “I cannot think of any excuse for why he would have done such a thing, but did he provide one?”

Peter nodded. “Of course he did; he maintains that Miss Stilinski should have been perfectly fine, and that there was no need to concern himself with her enjoyment, because women experience none.” He paused when he saw the appalled look on Cora’s face, grimacing in sympathy. “He claims that we are at fault—that we cannot tell him to live and thrive in society, and simultaneously reject its values. I’ve been going in circles, debating the merits of his argument.”

“It’s no argument at all—merely self-serving empty words!” Cora cried, rising to her feet; she began to pace, and her every movement announced her fury. “He may walk amongst men, but he was born and raised a lycanthrope; from the cradle he has been with us, learning at your, and Mother’s knees; if he simply wished to ignore who and what he is, that would be crime enough. But he has allowed his own twisted imaginings to harm an innocent, who has sought only to care and provide for him when he expressed the slightest need. His behaviour is excusable and cruel, and he must be made to account for it.”

Peter poured himself another dram and toasted her with it. “Well, when you put it that way,” he drawled, teasing only; in truth, he was grateful for the clarity she had granted on the subject. “Of course, it still leaves me with the matter of how to address the situation; and, most importantly, doing so in such a way as to adequately compensate Miss Stilinski.”

“You need to speak to Mother.” Cora waved an impatient hand at his protesting groan. “Set aside your reluctance, and you will see that you must; she needs to be made aware of what transpired for a number of reasons, but most vitally because she is the one who made the marriage arrangements with the Stilinskis, and will be the one responsible for renegotiating if it comes to that.”

Peter agreed; for, while he disliked her conclusion, there was no fault to be found in her logic. “And what of Derek?”

A dangerous grin stretched her mouth, and a dangerous glint sprung to life in her eye as she replied, “Leave my brother to me.”

 


	2. My Tongue is a Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Talia let out a long sigh, and rested her face in one hand. “This is a nightmare.”_
> 
> _He paused. She was right, and, while he had conceived of a way out of their current predicament, he had no inkling of how she’d respond. As Alpha, her word was final, but he desperately wanted her approval. More than he could remember. The intensity of it made him hesitate._
> 
> _She must have seen something of his turmoil in his face, however, because she lifted her head, scanning his expression with something like hope. “Peter? Do you know of a way to resolve this?”_
> 
>   _He dipped his chin. “I do, though you may not approve.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, once again, this fandom has decided to enable me. Guilty parties for chapter two include DenaCeleste, DiscontentedWinter, and BelleAmante. 
> 
> I don't know how to tag this, exactly, but the exchange between Stiles and Derek comes up in various ways throughout the fic, mostly in the form of processing trauma/abuse. The incident itself is not shown, and was not rape/non-con, but, yeah. This fic gets into the messy grey zone of Bad Sexual Experiences, and it might be triggering for some people, though I hope not. 
> 
> Happy Friday!

 

Three days passed, and Peter still hadn’t spoken to Talia, though he knew it was only a matter of time until she came to him. He knew exactly how to turn the situation to his advantage, but he found himself hesitating. As selfish as he proclaimed himself, there were others to consider—the Hale reputation couldn’t tolerate more gossip at present, and how to help Derek was a veritable paradox. To say nothing of Miss Stilinski, who had been caught in the crossfire. And whom, he could admit, he’d become enamoured of. The correct course of action was still unclear, and until he was certain of the way out of the mess Derek had landed them in, he would continue to bide his time.

His ruminations were brought to an abrupt halt, however, when Cora led Miss Stilinski into his study. “Ah, there you are, Uncle! Miss Stilinski said she came calling for you, that you told her to come see you if she was unwell.”

The smirk hiding in the corners of her mouth told him she knew that was a lie, but that she’d chosen to convey Miss Stilinski to him anyway. Likely because she believed he’d sat idle on his arse long enough. He rose from his seat. “Of course, Cora. Thank you. But, if you wouldn’t mind?”

She stepped back, ducking her head as the hidden smirk unfurled. “Of course not, Uncle. Let me know if I can be of any assistance to you. Good day, Miss Stilinski.”

“Good day, Miss Hale,” the young lady replied.

And then they were alone.

“As I do not recall saying such a thing to you, I assume that you came here so I could assess your healing?”

She lowered her eyes, but nodded. He suspected as much. He opened the door to his office, and motioned her through. Once the door was shut behind them, she spoke, her words rushing out in a quiet torrent. “I believe that I’m perfectly all right, as there’s no more pain, and I don’t want to waste your time, but you did tell me to return, and—”

He interrupted her nervous babbling with a hand on her shoulder. “It’s perfectly all right, my dear. You did exactly as I asked of you. I wanted to make note of your healing because, to be rudely blunt, my nephew used you far more roughly than he should have, and caused you not inconsiderable damage.”

She turned surprised eyes on him. “I thought—I thought it was supposed to hurt.”

It was entirely inappropriate, but Peter didn’t fight the urge to comfort her—he simply took her hand and bussed his lips across the back of it. “It can, yes, but it does not have to. And if pain is not a necessity, I see no reason why you ought to endure it.”

“Oh.” She blushed prettily, a small smile curving her mouth as she gave his fingers a little squeeze.

He released her hand and ushered her onto his table. His examination of her was brief. She was less swollen, less obviously raw, but it was clear that she would need a few more days. As he made to withdraw, she surprised him.

“Would you—I mean, what you did last time. What was it? And what was it for?”

Pleased satisfaction bloomed in his gut. He knew what she was truly asking for—could hear it in her quickening pulse and feel it in the gathering heat beneath his fingers—but he would deny neither her appetite nor her curiosity. He was generous that way.

He stroked his fingertips over her entrance, teasing, encouraging her body to open up and let him in. “It was an orgasm, darling. Many will tell you women do not have them—utter fools that they are—and so you may have never heard the term before.” He eased two fingers inside, and felt himself stirring in his trousers at the way she’d grown slick for him, the way she pulled him deeper, hungry for more. “Most often, others will speak of men’s pleasure—of the way climax will make him spill seed. Women have no such spillage, but can experience great pleasure nonetheless. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She opened her mouth to speak, and he chose that moment to crook his fingers and push firmly against the soft bundle of tissue nestled inside her. A cry tumbled from her mouth and she gasped out a “yes.” He lightly pressed the heel of his other hand above where he massaged her from the inside, and nearly growled when it made her squeeze tightly around his fingers.

He spoke softly as his hands worked, as the lovely young body undulated to the rhythm he set for her. “And, in answer to your second question—what was it for? My darling, it is for a great many things. Orgasm is a pleasure you deserve to experience often. Many doctors prescribe it as a treatment for hysteria, which does not exist as they understand it. However,” he increased pressure and relished in her resulting whimper, “I used it the first time to ease your pain, and to encourage blood flow and healing.”

Her hips lifted as she clenched rhythmically, so near to climax that he could nearly taste it. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks and throat flushed a delicate pink, and he couldn’t stop the growl that built in his chest and crawled out his mouth as his wolf all but howled in victory. “But this time, darling,” he rasped, “this time you shall have it simply because you asked.”

At that, she convulsed, her breath stopping and heart pounding as her body flooded with bliss. When she fell still, Peter became aware of how his own chest heaved, of how deeply he wished to bring her to peak again, and of the insistent throb between his own legs, the hunger to bury himself inside her and show her all the ways a man could make her moan. He withdrew his hands from under her skirts with regret.

He turned away to scrub at the basin, and would likely have missed her whispered confession were it not for his superhuman hearing.

“I know that I am lucky, to be marrying into your family. I know that Derek is a good man. But I wish he could show me a little warmth, that he could be more like you.”

When he stepped in front of her, he cupped her warm face between his hands. She was surprised that he took such liberties, but she did not chastise him; rather, her eyes darted across his features, searching for something. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and heard her heartbeat skip as he murmured, “I will make it right, darling. Just leave it to me.”

When he leaned back, he knew he wasn’t imaging the naked hope in her eyes. It was the last piece of evidence he needed. He knew what his next step would be.

 

***

 

Peter tapped lightly on the door of Talia’s study before letting himself in. He knew she was alone, and she had most certainly heard him approach. Sure enough, she raised a brow at him as he took a seat to the side of her desk. “We have a very serious problem.”

She sighed, but was smiling as she asked, “What have you done this time?”

He smirked. “Me? Nothing. Your son, on the other hand,” he trailed off.

She sobered. “Does this have anything to do with why he’s been avoiding me the last few days?”

He nodded. “It does.”

“What sort of trouble has he gotten himself into?”

“Oh, he’s not just landed himself in hot water, he brought the rest of us along with him.”

Talia was visibly agitated now. “Speak plainly, Peter. If this is as serious as you say, this is no time for riddles.”

“The situation is rather delicate, but at the bottom of it all is this: Derek cannot marry the Stilinski girl.”

Talia’s lips thinned. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head and leaned forward slightly. “I wish I were. But the fact remains that he simply cannot, for a number of reasons. First and foremost, because he is struggling to reconcile his heritage with society’s values, and not only is he coping poorly, but he took it out on his betrothed.”

Talia stilled suddenly, her eyes narrowing, but there was no hint of red in them. Not yet. “He did what?”

“He bedded her. With force. A great deal more than he should have.”

She drew in a careful breath. “How did you come to know this?”

He let his grip tighten on the armrests. “He brought her to me, claiming she was hysterical.” He rolled his eyes at Talia’s exaggerated expression. “I know. He knows better than to believe such nonsense, and yet, he stood there spouting it with a steady heartbeat.”

Talia closed her eyes. “And Miss Stilinski?”

“He did her a worrying amount of damage.” Which was true. Even if Peter’s definition might differ somewhat from hers.

“Will she recover enough to bear?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s hard to say. As a human, perhaps, perhaps not. As a wolf, almost certainly, but we cannot reveal ourselves now, when Derek has already wronged her, and I doubt she will consider the bite adequate redress besides.”

Talia nodded. They both knew she would never force the bite on the girl, but it would have been convenient to have it as an option. “Breaking the contract isn’t true restitution either, as her lack of chasteness would prevent her from seeking a union elsewhere, and I can hardly tell her father that the wedding is cancelled due to his daughter’s ill-usage at Derek’s hands.”

“No, but having her marry Derek is more punishment than anything. She is quite frankly terrified of her marriage bed, and little wonder. She is trying desperately to connect to him, and finds him cold.”

Talia let out a long sigh, and rested her face in one hand. “This is a nightmare.”

He paused. She was right, and, while he had conceived of a way out of their current predicament, he had no inkling of how she’d respond. As Alpha, her word was final, but he desperately wanted her approval. More than he could remember. The intensity of it made him hesitate.

She must have seen something of his turmoil in his face, however, because she lifted her head, scanning his expression with something like hope. “Peter? Do you know of a way to resolve this?”

He dipped his chin. “I do, though you may not approve.”

Her face twisted with exasperation. “By the moon, just tell me and _then_ let me decide whether or not I’m going to pitch a fit or overrule you. I’m well-aware that your quick thinking has gotten us out of troublesome situations before.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. The best resolution I can think of is for me to marry Miss Stilinski rather than Derek.” At her look of shock, he rushed he explain. “Think about it. It preserves the alliance between us and the Stilinskis, allows me to ensure that she heals properly without anyone else any the wiser to how she came by her injuries, and if she is already with child, it will still be a Hale.”

Talia sat back, looking stunned. “That’s brilliant, Peter. But how am I to explain the substitution to her father? During early negotiations, he inquired if you might be willing to take a bride, and I dissuaded him, arguing that Derek, being closer in age, was the better match. It will appear odd to renege on that position now.”

He leaned forward, and clasped one of her hands. “Talia, I think you need to send Derek away.”

“What?”

He shook his head to forestall her protests. “No, listen. He is struggling to understand his place in the world. The best thing we can do for him is give him the freedom to find it.” He smirked. “Though not without some guidance, of course.”

Talia huffed a laugh. “And what, precisely, did you have in mind?”

He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “One of the werewolf families on the Continent. France or Italy, perhaps, so that he has some obvious skills and stories to corroborate his whereabouts.”

She squeezed his fingers. “It’s a wonderful idea. He has some family on his father’s side in France, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind helping him find his way.” She paused. “Of course, this still doesn’t answer what I will tell Lord Stilinski.”

Peter shrugged. “Invent some pretext for why Derek is leaving. The girl herself won’t protest being free of him, or of having what he did to her kept quiet. She will support our proposal, and in truth, very little has changed. His daughter is still marrying into our family, her firstborn son will be named the Stilinski heir, and she will be supported in her professional pursuits. In the eyes of society, this will be to her advantage—not only is she marrying a wealthy nobleman, she will be the wife of a respected doctor who is also the head of a powerful family. And I’m devilishly handsome to boot.”

Talia laughed, pulling her hand out of his to bat at his shoulder. He grinned, relieved. “Alright,” she agreed. “I will contact Derek’s family in France, and will speak to Lord Stilinski. But, before I do,” she stood to cradle his jaw between her fingers, “is this what you want?”

“Of course.”

She shook her head, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “No, not just because it’s the best solution for our family. Not just because it proves you the cleverest. Will she make you happy?”

His eyebrows rose at the question, but she remained silently persistent. “I believe she will,” he whispered.

Talia pressed a kiss to his forehead before releasing him and stepping back. “Then consider it done.”

As he reached the door, he heard her murmured thanks, and nodded once. He left the Alpha to her arrangements, and hoped that he hadn’t just damned himself.

 

***

 

“Uncle Peter, come help me wash my hair.”

The request was odd enough that he put down the book he was reading and headed towards his niece. When he’d reached the third floor, he paused. Before he could track Cora by heartbeat alone, she spoke again. “I’m already in the bath.”

He wondered what this was about as he closed the door behind him. When he saw Cora alone, reclining in the claw-foot tub, he raised an eyebrow. “This is most improper, young lady.”

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “You’re absolutely right. Whatever was I thinking, exposing my respected uncle to the sight of my bosoms, which he has never seen before.”

He smirked at her cheek. “And you’ve certainly never seen your uncle, upstanding man that he is, unclothed either.”

She snorted. “Of course not. What do you think we are? Wild animals?” She resettled with her back to him. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“I suppose, though I could have sworn that you had a lady’s maid for such things.” Despite his griping, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

“Oh, I do, but Paula is always so unnerved by blood that I’d rather avoid her squawking if I can help it.”

He circled her, coming to sit on the low stool beside the tub. She looked at him serenely as he studied her. Blood was spattered across her left cheek, and matted the hair by her temple and ear. There were also a few drops dotted across her neck and collarbones, which were above the water. Wordlessly, he wet a cloth, curled his fingers under her jaw, and began to sponge the gore from her face.

“This is Derek’s, I assume?”

She hummed affirmatively, nuzzling into his hand. He kissed her cheek once it was clean. “Will you tell me about how you came to be covered in your brother’s blood, or do I have to pry it out of you?”

Her eyes were lazy slits, and her smile was inexplicably feline. “After you’ve washed my hair.”

He harrumphed, but wasn’t half as disgruntled as he played at, and she knew it. She let out a blissful sigh as he worked the soap through her hair, massaging her scalp, and Peter remembered when he used to do this for her often. He hadn’t realized that he’d missed it, missed doing this for someone. He wondered if Miss Stilinski would let him dote on her this way.

He was so caught up in exploring that thought that he was startled when Cora spoke. “I told Derek he owed me a spar. I didn’t say what for, and he didn’t ask, but I know he was surprised when I trounced him.”

“I can imagine.”

“And once he’d bled enough for there to be room in his brainpan for sense, I sent him to listen at Laura’s door. He’s undoubtedly scarred, but the point was made.”

“Was Laura aware he was listening?”

“By the moon, no. And if he’s smart, she never will be.”

He chuckled quietly as he rinsed the suds from her hair.

 

***

 

Peter knew Derek wasn’t likely to take the news of his broken engagement and forced travel well, so he braced himself. He was prepared for anger, hostility—even violence—and/or for Derek to refuse to speak to him. What he was not prepared for was what happened.

He’d been sleeping when he was awoken by intense distress pinging down one of the pack bonds. He clawed his way to consciousness, trying to locate the source. When he realized it was coming from Derek, he sighed. “Come here, pup,” he murmured.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute later that Derek slipped into his bedroom, face blotchy and breath hitching as he tried to control his tears. Peter lifted the covers, and his nephew didn’t hesitate to burrow underneath, hiding his face in Peter’s neck.

He carded his fingers through the pillow-mussed locks. “What’s wrong, pup?”

Derek heaved in a shuddery breath before he choked out, “Eh-everyone’s mad at me, a-and n-now I’m being se-sent away. ‘M s-sorry, s-so sorry, don-don’t make me omega.”

Peter’s heart broke a little, and he held Derek tightly. “You’re not being exiled, Derek. You’re not being banished from the pack, you’re being sent to visit family to _help_ you.”

If anything, that made the tears come harder. “But y-you’re f-family, why c-can’t you help me?”

Peter sighed and nuzzled the top of Derek’s head. “You’re struggling, pup. And that would be okay, we’d have helped you through that, but someone else got hurt because of you. That shouldn’t have happened.” Peter paused, working out how to phrase what came next. “Derek, I know you’re torn over your . . . proclivities. But the wolf doesn’t see gender, it just knows who feels right.”

Derek went completely still, before starting to tremble. Peter smoothed his hand up and down Derek’s back. “We’ve always known, Derek. It’s not a surprise to us, nor is it a source of shame. Homosexual acts are not immoral, just poorly understood by the closed-minded fops in power.”

“I-I didn’t, I thought—”

“Hush. I know. But if you had spoken to any of us—me, your mother, either of your sisters—we would all have told you the same thing. There’s nothing wrong with you. We’re not abandoning you. We just want to give you the space to find your way.”

Peter nearly drifted back to sleep in the quiet that followed, as Derek’s body stilled and breathing calmed. “I thought there was something wrong with me.”

Peter hummed, but said nothing.

“I thought, there had to be. I didn’t want her. Not like that. The wolf, he—he liked her, but not the right way. Not as mate.”

“It’ll be alright, pup,” Peter soothed. But he couldn’t stop the way his heart gave a traitorous stutter at the thought that, perhaps, this was going to be a win all-round.

 


	3. Legends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stiles stared placidly at them for a moment. “Werewolves,” she repeated lightly. It was clear she didn’t believe them. “That is incredibly fanciful, and if you expect me to believe it, I’m going to require some proof.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all: I'm sorry this is so late. My health went to shit, things at home exploded, government paperwork is a pain in the ass, and this fic not only fought me every step of the way, it also spiralled madly out of control. What was going to be chapter three has now been divided into two parts, and there will be an epilogue of sorts to bring it to five chapters total. 
> 
> My enablers are amazing, and this would not have been possible without them. Thank you to everyone in Fandom Hell, but especially to Mysenia for the sprints, DenaCeleste for the cheerleading, BelleAmante for the pre-reading, and moonlightcalls and XCuteAsHale for the screaming and support and general gushing.
> 
> Happy Friday, everyone!

 

“I still think it would be best if I were to explain to Miss Stilinski,” Peter insisted.

Talia’s eyes flashed. “While I agree that that would be optimal, I need you here. Cora will inform the young lady of the development. Her father isn’t going to see his daughter married to someone he hasn’t thoroughly vetted. He’s a keen judge of character, and I would not be surprised if he grew stubborn or even refused on principle.”

He bit back a snarl. He knew Talia was right, knew that he needed to gain permission from Stiles’s father, but that didn’t mean he liked it. News such as he had to give required delicacy, and he was the person best-suited to the task. Cora made for a decent second-choice, as she would be clear, but she was also blunt, and there could very well be things Miss Stilinski wished to know that she would not ask of her husband-to-be’s niece.

But he had no more time to argue about it, as Lord Stilinski was shown into the sitting room where he and Talia waited with a tray of tea and biscuits. Talia rose from her seat. “Lord Stilinski, thank you for coming.”

“As well as we have come to know each other, let’s set aside the pleasantries. What is this about?” He pulled Talia’s letter from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, waving it for emphasis. “Don’t tell me you’re withdrawing your offer.”

“No, no, of course not,” she soothed, touching the Lord’s hand. Peter wondered if the man realized that he was trembling slightly. “But as I said, a problem has arisen that makes re-negotiating a necessity.”

Lord Stilinski’s scent settled somewhat, though bitter notes of suspicion and fear lingered. “What problem is that?”

Talia sat, and gestured for him to do the same. “In our original talks, we’d planned for Stiles and Derek to wed. Unfortunately, business on the Continent has arisen that requires his presence.”

Lord Stilinski glared. “If that is all, surely we can wait for him to return to have the wedding?”

Talia glanced at Peter, and he nodded. They would need to reveal a little of the truth. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” she sighed. “Aside from the fact that we have no idea how long he will be away, my son has expressed some,” she paused to look away, swallowing, and Peter wanted to reach out and offer support, but couldn’t, not yet, “ _opinions_ , shall we say, that make him a poor match for your daughter.”

“A poor match. Really?”

Talia couldn’t quite contain her wince. “I would rather not speak ill of my son, but suffice to say that he would not treat her with the respect she is due.”

Lord Stilinski’s shock left him silent for a long moment. “If our children are not to be married and the contract is not to be broken, then what exactly do you suggest, Lady Hale?”

Peter took that as his cue. “We’re asking you to consider me for your daughter in Derek’s place.”

Lord Stilinski’s face darkened. “Do you think she is some small trinket to change hands without difficulty or consequence?”

“Not at all,” he countered, refusing to react. As a father, he had a right to be angry. “I’ve spoken with Miss Stilinski many times, during events that you and she have attended, and I know her to be a bright and enchanting creature that deserves to be treated as such.”

“And you don’t believe your nephew will do so?” Lord Stilinski’s eyes shifted between Peter and Talia, keeping tabs on their expressions. Peter approved.

Talia looked to him, unsure of how much more to tell. He took the lead. “My lord, it was at the last event we hosted that I accompanied Derek and your daughter to the library. It was my belief that she would appreciate the opportunity to borrow one of our books. While I do not wish to be indelicate, it was while there that my nephew said something truly deplorable, such that Miss Stilinski very nearly dissolved into tears.”

Talia nodded subtly. He’d uttered nothing but truth, though it was far from a complete recounting. Lord Stilinski sighed deeply, slumping in his chair. “That explains a great deal.”

Talia’s tone was careful. “How so?”

Lord Stilinski turned his head. “She worries unreasonably for my health, and would likely have gone through with the marriage to ensure my peace of mind, though I was aware that something was weighing on her. She’s been too quiet as of late.”

Peter glanced at Talia and opened his mouth, but Lord Stilinski spoke first. “What would change, if you married my daughter?” He stared at Peter.

“Nothing from the contract would be altered but that my brother would be the Hale your daughter weds,” Talia replied.

Lord Stilinski gave her a long look. She held his gaze. When he turned to Peter, his expression was calculating.

Peter rushed to head off any misgivings. “I have consulted with Talia through the negotiation of the contract, and have no issue with holding to it. I swear I would treat your daughter well. I’m a respected doctor, and would encourage her to further her education, or start her own career if she wished. If she preferred charity work, I would support her in that. My practice is well-established, and I am more than capable of providing for her physical needs.”

Talia’s hand on his shoulder alerted him to the fact that he’d leaned forward, and he settled back. “I know my brother does not seem a soft or gentle man. In truth, he is not. But I can attest from watching him with my own children that he is capable of great tenderness, and I can assure you that he will not raise a hand to Stiles in anger.”

Peter nodded. He would never do such a thing, not with his enhanced strength. He would, however, raise hand to teach her how to defend herself. It was an unfortunate necessity, given the family she was marrying into, but that would be a different thing, and Lord Stilinski had no need of that knowledge.

Peter would also be the one to draw her pain and tend to the inevitable hurts that such lessons would engender.

There was a long silence that become increasingly uncomfortable the longer it lasted. Finally, Lord Stilinski spoke. “Stiles didn’t put you up to this, did she?”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Beg pardon?”

“My daughter. She didn’t ask you to arrange this, or try to play you the fool, did she? She’s quite good at it.”

Peter fought not bristle at the veiled insult. To his family and Stiles herself. “She was not aware we were considering this,” he replied, voice cool. “The last we spoke, she was distraught over her treatment at my nephew’s hands, and I assured her I would bring it to Talia’s attention, as she is the one who negotiated the match with you.”

Lord Stilinski sighed. “While I do wish she had come to me if she had qualms about becoming Derek’s wife, I’m glad she spoke of it to someone. I would see her happily wed.”

“So we have an agreement, then? Stiles will marry Peter?” Talia’s tone was delicate, but the scent of victory was starting to tinge the air.

“I’ll be having words with my daughter about keeping secrets from me, but yes. I believe we do.”

Peter didn’t let what he was feeling show on his face as he followed his Alpha and future father-in-law towards the door. Cora appeared with Miss Stilinski as they reached the foyer. It took but a glance to see the way her hands trembled, and that she was too pale. “Might I?” He gestured toward her, and Lord Stilinski nodded.

Peter crossed the room quickly. He grasped her hand, pressing his fingertips to her wrist as if he couldn’t plainly hear the way her heart was stumbling and sprinting like a drunken horse. “Are you alright, my darling?”

As it had before, his touch soothed her, and he saw tension go out of Cora’s shoulders from the corner of his eye. “I’m shocked, but . . .” she trailed off, eyes tracing his features. He smiled, and she released a shuddering breath. “I’m glad it’s you,” she breathed, so softly that even Talia would have had to strain to hear.

He felt his expression soften. “So am I.”

 

***

 

That he’d managed to convince Talia to tell his betrothed their secret before the wedding was nothing short of a miracle. He still felt like he’d been hit over the head, and Stiles was due to arrive any moment. He paced, trying to calm himself, and he knew if Talia were slightly less concerned over the impending conversation, she’d laugh at him.

When Stiles was shown into the parlour, she picked up on the tension immediately, her scent going sharp and her eyes flitting about the room. “Lady Hale, Dr. Hale. This was rather sudden, and now I must confess that I’m concerned. Has something happened? Will there be no wedding after all?”

The resigned pain in her voice snapped him to attention. “No, nothing like that, dear one. Well,” he ducked his head, forced to acknowledge an unattractive possibility. “Not unless you decide you no longer wish to marry into the family.”

He and Talia watched the determination that guided her movements as she crossed the room to sit and folded her hands. “I think you had better tell me what has the two of you in such a tizzy.”

Peter took a deep breath, and held it for a moment before lowering himself into a seat next to his Alpha, and across from the woman he hoped would be his mate.

“I appreciate your directness,” Talia began. “What we have to tell you is delicate, and dangerous knowledge. All we ask is that you keep quiet, for your safety and ours, should you decide you no longer wish to associate with us.” Peter thought it wise not to mention that she’d simply take the memory from Stiles, should it come to that. Peter rather hoped it wouldn’t.

Stiles nodded her agreement, and Talia continued. “There’s no tactful way to say this, my dear, so I’ll be blunt: we are werewolves. We were born this way, although we are also capable of turning humans, under specific circumstances and provided they consent.”

Stiles stared placidly at them for a moment. “Werewolves,” she repeated lightly. It was clear she didn’t believe them. “That is incredibly fanciful, and if you expect me to believe it, I’m going to require some proof.”

“Fair enough,” Peter breathed. Then, without looking at Talia, he shifted partially. Not a full beta-shift, because he thought that might be a bit much to start with, and because his fangs, claws, and glowing eyes were proof enough for the most hardened skeptic. He kept his expression calm and his hands flat on the table.

Stiles said nothing for a long moment, her heart racing as she stared at his changed attributes. Finally, she swallowed, making a clicking sound, and asked, “May I touch?”

Peter gave her a close-lipped smile. “Certainly, darling. But watch yourself—my claws are sharp.”

She nodded, then stood up and wobbled around the table to collapse next to him on the settee. She ran a careful fingertip over his claws, tracing their shape and scraping the pad of her thumb across one to test its sharpness.

She reclined in her seat, boneless in the face of their revelation, a neutral expression on her face. Peter pulled back his shift. Time seemed to stretch to its breaking point as he waited for her to say something. When she did, her voice was unexpectedly steady. “This explains a great deal.”

“I beg your pardon?” Talia asked. Peter didn’t have to look to know that her eyebrows were raised. His own certainly were.

Stiles snorted, and Peter found the condescension ridiculously charming. “Despite your efforts, it’s quite obvious you’re not a normal family. No one else would have allowed my firstborn son be raised as the Stilinski heir—their bloodlines are far too important to them. Which begs the question: what power structure do you operate under? And what are the circumstances necessary to turn humans? Will I turn? The children I bear, will they be like you?”

Peter turned his head to savour the gobsmacked expression on his sister’s face. He was coming to adore this bright slip of a woman the more time he spent around her. After a long moment, Talia pulled herself together. “Those are excellent questions, and while we will all endeavour to educate you on what this means, the information you need at present is this: your children are more likely to be werewolves than not, though you may bear completely human offspring. Werewolves, on the whole, are matriarchal, and I am the Hale Alpha. The leader, if you will.” Stiles nodded, and she continued. “As the Alpha, it is within my power to offer humans the Bite, which provides them with the opportunity to turn. Not all do, however—there are those who perish rather then turn. Receiving the Bite is not a requirement for becoming a Hale. We would welcome you exactly as you are.”

Stiles’s brow was furrowed. “You’re the head of the family, then?”

Talia nodded. “I am.”

“But how? Everyone I’ve ever spoken to believes that your brother occupies that role.”

Peter carefully took one of her hands into his own, and was relieved when she allowed it. “Publically, yes, you will find that I am seen to lead the Hales. The way society currently functions would allow nothing else.” He traced his thumb gently across her knuckles, willing her to understand. “But Talia’s position as Alpha is a more absolute power, one that those in her pack are hard-pressed to oppose. As the Alpha, she’s the only one with the ability to offer the gift of lycanthropy to others.”

Stiles’s eyebrows went up at that. “I absolutely want to revisit the topic of Alphas and power structures, but for the moment, why call it a ‘gift’?” She turned her head to address Talia. “I mean no offense, Lady Hale, but you did open this conversation by insisting that merely knowing about your kind was dangerous. If that is true, I fail to see how actually being a werewolf is advantageous.”

Talia dipped her head, hiding a smile. Peter had known she was fond of the girl, but it seemed his darling was not finished impressing her Alpha-to-be. “There are a number of advantages, although they do not come without a price. We have enhanced senses—sight and hearing, scent most notably—and while that is useful, such as providing the ability to know when someone is lying, it is troublesome as well. People kill to keep secrets, and often we must pretend to not to know things of which we are very much aware. We also have advanced healing, the ability to shift, as Peter demonstrated, and incredible strength.”

Stiles paused at that, her eyes going distant. “That makes sense,” she murmured.

Peter didn’t like the emotions he could smell bubbling under her skin. “What does, my darling?”

She returned to the present, gaze direct. “Another time, if that’s alright.” When he nodded, she continued. “You said you know when someone is lying?”

Peter took over, giving her fingers a delicate squeeze. “I can hear your heartbeat. The way it speeds when you’re anxious, and how it stutters when you’re surprised. There is a similar stutter when someone lies.”

“Is that all?” she asked faintly. The note of sarcasm was not lost on him.

“Not quite.” He smiled at her. “Emotions also carry distinct scents to us. In truth, our sense of smell is our greatest asset, because of what it tells us about others and the world around us. I can tell where someone has been, what they have eaten, what they are feeling, and,” he dropped his voice, “who they have lain with.”

Stiles went still but for where her hand squeezed tightly around his. “You can smell all that, and hear heartbeats? Should I assume conversations, also?”

Talia dipped her head, understanding where this conversation was heading and liking it no better than he did. The scent of her distress made him want to soothe her, but he knew that he could not. Not without lying, and he found the notion abhorrent.

“Is nothing private?” she asked, eyes wide and gleaming with tears. He bussed a kiss across the back of her hand.

“Not among werewolves,” he admitted softly.


	4. You're Human Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She turned her face to glare at him, but a smile tugged at her lips. “It seems I’ve married a scoundrel.”_
> 
> _“Most assuredly,” he murmured. Then—because he could, now, and they were alone in the carriage—he dragged his lips across the fragile skin of her neck, just below her ear. Her hand gripped his thigh, and she shuddered._
> 
> _“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Dr. Hale?”_
> 
> _He scraped his teeth down the tendon, and was pleased to smell her ginger-honey arousal. “Offering enticement, Mrs. Hale. Is it not to your liking? I have other methods I can employ, if you’d prefer.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People. _People_. This chapter fucking murdered me. It was supposed to be simple wedding night sex. Then Peter kept having _all the feelings_ , and "slow" became the name of the game, and it killed me. And now I'm taking all of you down with me. 
> 
> Blame/credit/funeral costs should be sent to basically everyone in the Fandom Hell chat, but especially to DenaCeleste, BelleAmante, Mysenia, moonlightcalls, Green, and XCuteAsHale. Without Dena and Greenie, this would not exist. The amount of hand-holding they did for this was insane. And probably no one should ask Belle how much ranting this chapter engendered.
> 
> Happy Friday!

 

Peter despised the wedding, socially-mandated hoopla that it was. He’d have much preferred a simple mating ceremony under the moon, like his parents and grandparents had had. But the Hales and Stilinskis were prominent families, so they had to suffer through. Stiles wasn’t any fonder of it than he was, and it was easy to convince her to slip out early when her nerves started to fray. He’d warned Talia when she’d planned the affair that this would happen, and she’d agreed to give the newlyweds a few hours of true privacy.

His new bride was uncharacteristically preoccupied as they rode back to the manor, the scent of her anxiety growing pungent. He reached for her hand, and brought it to his lips. “I hope you know that I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

While he’d hoped to reassure her, his words seemed to have the opposite effect. Her pulse sped and her voice shook. “You already have.”

He frowned. “How do you mean?”

She dropped her eyes, and seemed as fearful as she had when Derek had brought her, supposedly-hysterical, to him for treatment . “That you were the husband I wanted, from the time my father told me I was to marry into the Hales.” At his silence, she wrapped her arms around herself and went on in a breathless whisper. “You’re a respected doctor, established in society, well-known for your intelligence and wit. And you always treated me as if my opinion mattered, even when we talked of frivolous things. It was so much easier to speak to you, glittering and sharp as you are, than it ever was to engage in conversation with your nephew.”

Her lips twisted in a grimace as her scent grew overwhelmingly bitter. “I’d also heard of your reputation, and thought, if I was to be married off as a broodmare, I wanted to enjoy some part of the experience.”

He was stunned. “Do you mean to tell me that you deliberately manipulated me, when Derek brought you to me spouting that nonsense about hysteria?”

Her heart started beating so fast and so hard, it sounded like tribal drums. “I—”

“You utterly delightful creature.” He sounded reverent, even to his own ears.

Her head whipped round to face him, her eyes wide. “You’re not angry?”

“Not at all,” he breathed, winding an arm about her waist and drawing her to his side.

She let out a long breath and slumped against his shoulder. They sat that way for several minutes as she calmed, and Peter enjoyed the closeness.

They were nearly home when she murmured, “I was so scared, when Derek told you what I’d let him do, afraid that I’d lost any chance I might’ve had with you, ruined as I was.”

“Hush,” he chided. “I will not tolerate anyone speaking thus of my wife.” He paused a moment before dipping his head to purr into her ear. “Besides, you have not been ruined. Only the very best sex leaves one in ruins, and you’ve not yet lain with me.”

She turned her face to glare at him, but a smile tugged at her lips. “It seems I’ve married a scoundrel.”

“Most assuredly,” he murmured. Then—because he could, now, and they were alone in the carriage—he dragged his lips across the fragile skin of her neck, just below her ear. Her hand gripped his thigh, and she shuddered.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Dr. Hale?”

He scraped his teeth down the tendon, and was pleased to smell her ginger-honey arousal. “Offering enticement, Mrs. Hale. Is it not to your liking? I have other methods I can employ, if you’d prefer.”

Rather than engage her, as he’d hoped, it sent her anxiety spiking once more. “Peter?”

He leaned back, disliking the way her tongue stumbled over his given name. “Yes, dearest?”

Her eyes were fixed on her lap. “When we return to the manor, you’re going to consummate our marriage?”

It was half-question, half-statement, and he wasn’t sure how to answer. He wanted to soothe her distress, but needed to know how first, so he proceeded cautiously. “That had been my intention, yes. If you’d rather wait, we can, but I’d assumed you’d prefer privacy, the first time.”

“I would, yes. However, I,” she stopped abruptly, cheeks flushing.

His arm around her waist and hand on the back of her neck settled her against him, her cheek resting on his chest. “If you cannot tell me what is upsetting you so, I cannot remedy it.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know what to expect, and it frightens me. I was told nothing, as it would be improper to speak of such things, and all I know comes from a single encounter with Derek that I would prefer to forget. What I know of you suggests that being with you would be entirely different, and yet I cannot be certain.”

Peter closed his eyes, and focussed entirely on his bride. What was done was done. He could not change it, but—“Then I suppose you’ll have to forgive my impropriety when I tell you that I plan to undress you myself, and hope you’ll return the favour. That I want to touch and taste you, learn your body until I know it as well as my own.”

Hints of honey-ginger tickled his nose. “That is most improper, Dr. Hale. Please continue.”

He chuckled, liking this side of her. “If you insist.” He closed his eyes, picturing it. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper. “I would want to mark your throat with my teeth—not a mating bite, not yet—but the wolf is territorial. I want your skin to carry proof that you’re mine.”

“Would it hurt?”

He brushed his thumb against the side of her neck. “Not the way you’re thinking. More of a hot tingle than anything. Although,” he whispered, “there are some who find it to be quite an erotic sort of pain, when teeth are applied a little more forcefully.”

She made a disbelieving sound. Peter would enjoy proving her wrong—whether as the giver or receiver of teeth. “And then, sweetling, I’m going to feast on you until you orgasm.”

Her heartbeat was lively now, and curiosity brightened her eyes. “Feast? And how exactly will that bring me pleasure, Mr. Wolf?”

He flashed electric blue eyes at her. “Because I’m going to part your thighs, fasten my mouth between them, and use my tongue to make stars burst behind your eyelids.”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet and he could all-but _taste_ ginger and honey on his tongue. She sputtered, unsure how to respond to his intentions laid out so candidly. Or perhaps she was simply unbalanced by the strength of her own wanting. Whatever it was, he remained quietly amused as he helped her out of the carriage and led her to his—now their—bedroom.

When he started freeing the buttons at the back of her wedding gown, she spoke. “It’s a little strange, that you know how to do this.”

“What? Remove women’s clothing?” He tutted playfully. “Come now. I thought you’d heard of my reputation as a scoundrel.”

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Do most men not simply take their wives once abed and undressed already? Or, if not a wife, pull up the lady’s skirt?”

He drew her close with a hand on her belly. “Yes,” he whispered. “But you should know that I am not most men.”

She hummed. “No. No, you’re not.” When he moved to unlace her corset after laying her dress aside, her anxiety reappeared. “This as well? I thought—”

He bussed a kiss across her temple before pulling the constricting garment over her head. “I would have you bare, darling. Down to nothing but skin.”

She crossed her arms over her chest as he moved in front of her, knowing her slip was nearly sheer. Her mouth opened and closed, and she shook her head, but no words came forth. He cupped her face. “I know you’ve been taught it’s improper to be nude. That a lady never should be outside the bath.” He thumbed at her cheekbones and was pleased to see and smell her relief. “We are different. Skin is merely skin, bodies only bodies. There is nothing sinful about the body you have, nothing inherently sexual or improper in skin touching skin.”

He guided her fingers to his tie before moving to unbutton his tailcoat. Her hands were unsteady as she unknotted the silk, but she understood. “You’ll need to be patient with me, I’m afraid. I cannot simply be as you are.” Her eyes and fingers dropped to his waistcoat buttons.

He leaned in, touching his forehead to hers. “I would not expect you to be. I only ask that you try, and trust me.”

She glanced up. “I do.”

He kissed her. It was gentle, their lips moving sweet and unhurried. He curled a hand around the back of her neck and sucked on her bottom lip, delighting in the responding whine. He tossed his waistcoat toward the rest of their discarded finery, and suppressed a growl when Stiles’s clever fingers unfastened his breeches. He broke the kiss to drop to his knees, tapping at each of her ankles in turn so he could remove her shoes and set them aside.

A flush bloomed on her cheeks as he dragged his palms up her thighs to peel her stockings down each shapely calf. He resisted the urge to kiss and bite for now, but promised himself he would later. When he slid his hands back under her slip, however, she pulled away.

“Not just yet, then,” he murmured. She smiled, touching his hair.

Peter rolled gracefully back up to his feet, and began slipping his shirt buttons free of their holes. When he turned to set it aside, he was startled to feel the brush of fingers across his ribs. Turning to look, Stiles pulled her hand away. “Sorry.”

He took her hand, pecking a kiss to her knuckles before laying it against his chest. “Please, sweetness. I’m yours to touch as you like.”

Surprise widened her eyes, but desire coloured her cheeks as she mapped his torso with reverent hands. It was drugging, the way her feather-light touch traced the muscles of his chest, the lines of his collarbones and breadth of his shoulders. He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until her grip grew surer around his ribs, sliding round his back as she pressed against him. He kept them closed, his hands resting lightly on her hips and his cheek against the side of her head. He breathed in the warm-bread scent of her contentment, tinged with the honey-ginger that made his mouth water.

After a long moment, Peter opened his eyes and brought his hands up to pluck the pins from her hair. Her scent went citrusy with surprise, but she made no word or move in protest. When her thick hair was waving down her back, he stepped away reluctantly to set down the frankly horrifying number of pins. He was quick in returning, quicker still in sliding his fingers through her hair to massage her scalp. She let out a soft sound, lashes fluttering as she melted, bracing herself against her husband.

It was strange, to think of himself that way. As a husband. As _this_ woman’s husband.

He startled when she knelt at his feet. “Sweetheart?” When she lifted her face in response, he skated his fingertips under her jaw. “What are you doing?”

She swallowed, betraying her nerves. “What you did for me.”

He bent to drop a kiss to her forehead. “Stiles, I need you to understand something. I have very few expectations for you as my wife, and none of them depend upon your subservience. There is only one that exists within our bedroom, and that is for you to allow me to behave as my instinct dictates.”

Her heart sped, and Peter cursed his slip. “You will suffer no ill-usage at my hands—or any other part of me—in our marriage bed. I swear it.” He crouched down, framing her face with his palms. “When I speak of instinct, I refer to my desire to have you bare. To leave the marks of my mouth upon your skin. Of how I want to trace every part of you until I know your body as well as my own. I would see you breathless with pleasure, and take pride in knowing I was the cause. And, one day,” his voice slipped into a whisper, “I would derive great joy in caring for you as your belly swells with child.”

“Yes,” she breathed, leaning forward to kiss him. “Yes, Peter, I want that.” Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Show me, please.”

He growled an affirmative before enfolding her in his arms. He stood, bringing her with him. She gasped, her grip tightening, but he was in no danger of dropping her. Not now, likely not ever. He set her on the bed and pressed a brief kiss to her lips before divesting himself of his shoes, socks, breeches and drawers.

When he unbent, a little gasp from Stiles caught his attention. Turning his head, he saw her staring at his groin and half-hard member. Before he could gently tease, she averted her eyes. Her scent curdled with fear as she murmured, “You’re larger than Derek.”

He immediately understood. “Sweetheart, I’ll get you more than ready for me.” He held her gaze, watching her pupils nudge outwards as he grasped her drawers and dragged them down her legs. “You’ll be begging me to fill you long before I push inside. And, when I do?” He leaned forward and brushed their mouths together. “There will be no pain. Only pleasure the likes of which you haven’t felt before.”

She nodded, her breaths coming fast. He smirked, and knew the expression was hungry, could feel the way his wolf-eyes lit his face. “Remove your slip, and spread your legs for me.”

There was a fresh pulse of honey-ginger that nearly made him snarl in response. He held it back, but only just. He had no desire to scare his wife. (His _wife_. She was his now, as much as he was hers, and it was strange, dream-like, to touch her when she’d been just beyond his reach for so long.)

When she was bare, he guided her onto her back, kissing her sweetly. He lingered at her mouth before moving down to tease and suck at her throat. She gasped, thighs parting to draw him closer, and he smiled against her skin. He trailed kisses down her body, and she jerked when he reached her belly and showed no sign of stopping. She whimpered. “Peter?”

He closed his eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the way it felt to hear his name fall easily from her lips. “What did I tell you in the carriage, sweetling?”

She swallowed. “That you—you would use your mouth to,” she stopped, flushing the same deep scarlet as when first told he would eat her pleasure straight from the source.

“I will suckle and sup on the tender flesh between your thighs, darling,” he rasped. “And I promise that you will enjoy every moment of it.”

He dipped his head to mouth at her sex. Her breath hitched, and her hips arched into the sensation. He fought not to grin as he let the tip of his tongue trace the edges of her outer folds, before delving a little deeper to do the same with her inner ones, eliciting a whimper.

He dragged the flat of his tongue over her softly, in regular passes, enjoying the tangy honey-ginger-musk on his tongue and in his nose. His hands pet from waist to hips, her skin tantalizingly soft. When she began whining, pressing against his mouth in an unconscious plea for more, he decided to show mercy—flicking his tongue over the hidden gem that was key to unlocking the pleasure he wanted to bring her.

At that, her fingers tangled in his hair as she choked on the syllables of his name. He gave a satisfied rumble, continuing to toy with the little nub in his mouth. He revelled in the way her pleasure built—her skin flushing and dewing, the way she ground unselfconsciously against his face—and realized before she did that this was not quite enough.

He sucked, making her breath catch, and then nibbled, ever so carefully.

Her orgasm was quiet—nothing more than breathy gasps and half-strangled whines—but violent to his senses. He lost himself in the pounding of her heart and the clenching grip on his hair, the quaking of her thighs under his hands and the wetness slicking his chin. When it was over and she was mewling for him to stop, he pulled away, licking his lips.

Her eyes were glazed and her voice trembled when she clutched at his shoulders and murmured his name. He’d known that it might overwhelm her, so he moved to rest atop her with his cheek on her collarbone. As he did, his hardened length brushed her silky heat, and he moaned, hips rolling once before he could stop himself.

She stilled at the contact, but said nothing. The tension holding her in place dissipated as he made no move to enter her. “Not just yet, sweetheart,” he soothed, nuzzling her throat. “I haven’t stretched you yet.”

He heard the way her pulse sped a little, but he said nothing. “Peter?” He hummed, unwilling to move away. “Would you, um, ever do that again?”

He didn’t bother to restrain his pleased smirk. “Oh, often,” he purred.

She half-sputtered, half-laughed before tilting her head to swipe her tongue across the skin at the corner of his mouth. Peter let the growl building in his chest loose, but kept it quiet. He already had her scent smeared across his face, but this was too close to courtship behaviour, to grooming, for his animal drives to stay silent. Her tongue rasped over his stubble again before she spoke. “If I asked, would you tell me why?”

His hand stroked down her side before returning to cup one pert breast. He thumbed her nipple, noting the minute jerk of her hips as he did. “If you asked, I would tell you that I already confessed to wanting you breathless with pleasure under me. If I also happen to enjoy a delicacy afforded no one else, it shall be our secret.”

She stroked his hair, her thumb brushing the hinge of his jaw. “So you do like it, then.”

He lifted his head to look her in the eye. “Sweetheart, there will be nights when I want no more than this.”

She shifted, her expression flickering too quickly for him to decipher the meaning behind it. Still, he could smell her nervousness. “Should I, ah. Reciprocate?”

He kissed her. It was meant to be a peck, something chaste, but her tongue darted out to lick across his lips, tasting herself, and it grew deep and hungry. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard. “I would be delighted if you wished to, but some other time. I have plans for tonight.”

She giggled, aroused and breathless and excited. “Is that so, Dr. Hale?”

He nodded solemnly—as if there was anything serious about this, about him on all fours above her naked body while she addressed him formally—and smirked. “I always have a plan, Mrs. Hale.”

Her smile was affectionate and filled him with warmth. “I have no doubt of that.”

He leaned back, sitting on his heels and draping her shapely legs over his thighs so he could tease his fingertips over the slick, sensitive flesh before nudging two inwards. Her eyes closed and lips parted, and Peter felt a deep, visceral satisfaction. She was hot and soft inside, and he probed carefully, twisting and curling his fingers to stroke over her inner walls. He intended to make good on his promise, to open her so thoroughly that she received him easily and without pain.

It wasn’t long before she was whimpering, body undulating and eyes glazed. “Peter, it’s—it’s not—I feel, I need—”

He bent down and kissed her belly. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll be inside you soon. I just need to know how you want me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t know what you mean by that.”

And, well. No, she wouldn’t. “There are a number of ways to take me inside you. I could rest against the headboard while you straddled my hips, letting you decide how much and how fast. Taking me while on your hands and knees or bent over the bed is likely—”

“No!” she yelped. He looked at her, startled.

“Are you sure? It would feel lovely for you in that position.” He wouldn’t push, but he’d thought she might prefer that, that she would appreciate the opportunity to hide from his nakedness as well as her own.

She shook her head. “Derek . . . took me from behind. I’d be willing to try it again with you, but not tonight.”

At this rate, Peter might have to murder his own nephew. “That’s perfectly reasonable, sweetness.” He shifted, withdrawing his fingers and spreading the clinging wetness over himself. He guided her leg up and over his hip as he held himself above her on one arm. “We can do it like this. You’ll just need to let me do all the work,” he teased.

She swallowed, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “I don’t know. Doesn’t seem entirely fair.” Despite her protest, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Peter smiled, tucking his face into the curve of her neck. “You’ll have lots of opportunities to make it up to me in future.”

And then he was flexing his hips, easing inside. Rather, he tried, but as soon as she was breached, Stiles let out a small cry and bucked, pulling him deeper much faster than he’d intended. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ll give you what you need, I swear, I just need you to be patient.”

She whined in disagreement, clutching him tightly. “You don’t understand—it’s good, it’s all _so_ good, but I want more. Want you to feel as sinfully good as I do right now.”

He suckled a mark on her throat, crowding her as he went as deep as he could go. He took a moment to pant against her skin, overwhelmed. He’d bedded women before, but never one that he could keep. Never one that he belonged to. One that he felt so much for, and about.

He was broken from his daze by Stiles’s thin whine. “Peter, _please_.”

He pulled back to see her face. “Do you need me to stop?” he asked, voice thick. He’d thought she was enjoying herself, that he’d been thorough, but maybe she—

“Move,” she gasped.

He nodded, and began to slide free. She shook her head as he left the hot clutch of her body, twining her limbs around him. “That is the opposite of what I wanted,” she whispered. “I want you to show me how good it can be. I want to show you how good _I_ can be.”

“Oh sweetheart.” He dropped kisses on her face as he inched back inside. “You are. You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

Stiles huffed a laugh, rolling up to meet his hips. “Peter, you’ve already shown me more pleasure than I knew could exist in a marriage bed. I will feel like a very poor wife indeed if you can find none.”

He dropped down onto his elbows to kiss her. It was the only reply he could make as he started to move. He kept his thrusts slow and even, savouring the feel of her under and around him, the way it pleased the wolf to have their body between the world and her nakedness.

He’d been aching since he tasted her, and knew he wouldn’t last long. Not the first time. Later, he could show her how good it felt drawn-out and slow, the way pleasure exploded when it was allowed to simmer, but for now—“Touch yourself, darling. I’m afraid you’ve rather undone me.”

She laughed, a bright, beautiful sound he couldn’t wait to hear again. “How should I . . .?”

He guided one of her hands between their bodies, nudging her fingers until she gasped, twitching. “Right there, sweetheart. Do whatever feels best.”

She nodded, twisting her hips as they both started to move. Her grip on his shoulder tightened, would leave bruises were he not what he was, and he panted against her collarbone as he rutted. He tried to slow down, keep his rhythm even, but he was too far gone to stop chasing the orgasm building hot and heavy in his pelvis.

“Sorry,” he gasped.

“Peter, don’t stop,” she whined, squeezing him between her thighs, hand still working. “It’s so good, don’t you dare stop.”

Her certainty—clear despite her racing heart and shortness of breath—made him want to howl in victory. He mouthed at her shoulder, weight balanced on one arm as he slid the other under her waist, tilting her hips down. It changed the angle, made her cry out as he slid against the sensitive bundle of tissue he’d first introduced her to as her doctor. He much preferred stimulating it as her husband.

Her back arched out of his grip and she tightened around him as she climaxed a second time, dragging him to his own finish, his jaw clamping as he spilled.

He pulled his mouth away as soon as he realized, pressing light kisses to the imprint of teeth. An apology of sorts. He shifted to press kisses up her throat to her mouth, which she returned lazily. Her hold on him gentled, legs falling open and fingers uncurling to comb through his hair.

He freed himself from her embrace reluctantly to wet a small towel in the bucket of warmed water he’d had brought up. Stiles stirred, her brow furrowing as he stroked the cloth over the marks he’d made, the creamy skin glistening between her breasts, and down between her legs. As he finished, he kissed the crease between her eyebrows. “You’ll sleep more comfortably this way,” he murmured.

She gave an indulgent hum, turning the sheets down. She watched unabashedly as he dipped the towel a second time to clean himself, and he resisted the urge to peacock. Damp, he slid into bed beside her, unsure of his welcome. While he’d prefer to sleep skin-to-skin with her, twined so tightly a casual observer couldn’t tell where he ended and she began, her comfort was of greater value to him. He rolled onto his side, resting one hand on her belly.

“Do I need to apologize?”

She gave him a look that was, quite frankly, exasperated. “I have no idea why you would, unless you were asking if someone _else_ required one.”

He found himself charmed, a smile pulling at his lips against his will. “I meant for this,” he clarified, tracing the darkening ring of teeth-marks in her shoulder.

She shivered at the touch. “I admit, I was skeptical that being bitten—especially by a wild beast,” she smirked at him playfully, “could be pleasurable, but I find myself happily mistaken.”

He felt some of the tension go out of his muscles. “Am I to assume, then, that I have your permission to do so when I bed you in future?”

She laughed and moved closer to tuck her face into the curve of his neck, her chest pressed to his. “If you do not, I shall be most put out.”

He wrapped an arm about her waist, bringing her with him as he rolled onto his back. She settled half-sprawled on his chest, forehead tucked under his chin. “Noted, Mrs. Hale.”

She gave his side a gentle pinch, and he chuckled. He revelled in the way Stiles surrounded him, saturating his senses—her skin under his palms, the slowing beat of her heart in his ears, the scent of them in his nose, the lingering taste of her in his mouth—as they basked quietly. He was near sleep when he heard her whisper, “Thank you.”

He kissed her hair. “Always, sweetheart.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, two things:  
> 1) Updates were really fast there for a while, but they're slowing down now. Everything kinda exploded all over the everywhere, and aside from that, I have a metric shit tonne of Christmas fic to write. But it means that, if you can be patient, you'll get _all the fic_ from me in December.  
>  2) I WAS PUBLISHED!!! I KNOW I'M BEATING A DEAD HORSE, BUT I AM STILL FLAILING IN EXCITEMENT! (I swear I'll only scream about it a few more times. Just until the shiny wears off.) More info is [here](https://theliteraryhangover.wordpress.com/2016/10/26/its-official/).

**Author's Note:**

> Clothing in the Victorian era changed on the decade, much the way it does now, but this will give you a rough idea: http://www.vintagevictorian.com/costume_1890.html 
> 
> Also: while the rating of this will stay the same, there will be more sexually-explicit material later on, and tags will update as needed to reflect added content. This is shaping up to be about 3 chapters, and I'm hoping to update every Friday. *crosses fingers and prays to the writing gods*


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